Enough
by brokenbottleaurora
Summary: Harry quits his job and, to keep busy, decides to renovate Number 12 Grimmauld Place by hand. Hermione watches as he tries to rediscover happiness and maybe even some peace. Will it be enough?
1. Chapter 1

The Houses Competition

Hufflepuff, HoH

Standard

Prompt: Renovating a house/home

Word Count: 1998, per GoogleDocs

AN: This story is not even remotely canon compliant. Harry isn't dating Ginny, he doesn't stay an Auror, and he's a bit more damaged than the epilogue would have you believe. Such is fan fiction.

* * *

Enough

"Harry!" Hermione cried, pulling her oldest friend in for a hug. "Isn't Ron with you? He wouldn't miss our monthly pub night."

"No, he'll be here in a bit. Probably still sulking," Harry replied.

Luna rolled her eyes. "What does Ronald have to sulk about?"

"You told him, didn't you?" Hermione murmured.

Harry nodded and turned to the rest of the group. "I quit my job yesterday. Well, technically I'm on 'indefinite leave', but Kingsley knows I don't plan on returning. I'm sick of all the glad-handing and politics at the Ministry. It's just time for me to leave."

Neville rolled his eyes. "I realize that means the two of you won't be partners anymore, but surely Ron's got to understand why you did it. Plus you're still flatmates!"

"That's what's got him so angry. I'm actually thinking of moving into Grimmauld Place," Harry said quietly.

Ginny gaped at him. "Are you sure about that, Harry? I know Sirius left you the place, but it's such a mess!"

"Yeah, it's in rough shape. But since I'm technically on leave, I can't really get another job, so I plan on fixing it up while I've got the time off," he explained. "I'm sure Sirius wouldn't want me to keep the house that way forever, and it'll be easier if I just lived there during the remodel."

"Oh, that could be fun! Mum's got a whole shelf of books on home renovation charms. I could bring them over tomorrow. With any luck, you'll be done in a week!" Ginny exclaimed.

Harry tugged at his collar. "I really appreciate the offer, Gin, but I'm going to do what I can the Muggle way."

"That's a huge house; it's going to take a lot of time," Neville worried. "Not to mention all the skilled labor it'll require."

"Well, that's part of why I want to do it the Muggle way. I'm going to need something to keep my head _and_ my hands busy while I'm not working," Harry said.

Hermione knew by the way he alternated drumming his fingers on the table and picking at his nails that Harry was hiding something. No matter—she'd get to the bottom of it and help him tackle it.

"Well, just let me know if you need a hand pulling down the wallpaper or cleaning up," Hermione offered. "I'm rubbish with repairs, but I'll do anything I can to help."

Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. "Thanks, Hermione, I'll take you up on that. Tomorrow okay? I'm a bit anxious to get started."

"Of course!" Hermione chirped. "Now Ginny, tell us more about that flat you were looking at in Holyhead…"

* * *

The next morning, Hermione stepped into the entrance hall of Number 12 and found it emptied of furniture. Harry was perched on a wobbling ladder, yanking at the top corner of the wallpaper. Hermione cast a quick charm to stabilize the ladder and shot her best friend a stern look.

"Sorry," Harry said sheepishly. "Thought it was a bit safer than that. Wanna give me a hand and Vanish the pile I've already pulled down?"

"I thought you were doing this the Muggle way?" Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged. "I'll do all the work by hand, but I don't see any reason to add more trash to a landfill. I'll donate or Vanish what I don't keep."

Hermione made quick work of the pile and started removing the paper from the bottom half of the walls. They worked in near silence until lunch, but by the time they drug themselves into the kitchen to make sandwiches, all the paper had been removed.

"This is a lot of work," Hermione said, swiping a hand across her brow. "Harry, I just don't know that it's feasible for you to finish this whole house by hand."

Harry chewed on that thought for a moment. "I know it's going to take a long time and a lot of work, but I kind of planned on that. I _need_ this, Hermione. I can't just come into Sirius's house and start Vanishing all the things that were a part of his life. I… It's like I'd be Vanishing _him_ along with these terrible drapes, as ridiculous as that may sound. And I can't let that happen again. I can't lose this last piece of him without properly saying goodbye to it."

_And to Sirius, too,_ Hermione finished mentally. It made perfect sense—escaping the social climate of the Ministry, hiding somewhere familiar, finding something to keep busy—Harry needed some space from the real world _and_ a chance to say goodbye to the only family he'd ever known. Hermione straightened her shoulders. If anyone deserved the chance to put the past to rest, it was Harry, and she'd do whatever was necessary to help him.

"Then I guess we'd better hop to it," she said with a knowing smile.

When she Apparated back to her own flat that night, Hermione had helped remove all the wallpaper from the entrance hall, scrape the glue from the walls, and prime them for painting the next day. She did a quick Internet search on the best way to refinish old wooden floors and printed out the information like Harry had asked. Unsurprisingly, she was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

The next morning, Hermione popped back over to Grimmauld Place, papers in hand and ready to paint. Harry had already begun coating the walls in a warm cream-colored paint. All the moldings were taped off and protected, several drop cloths covered the floors, and the ladder was stabilized. She was impressed by his rather expert setup.

"Thanks for doing that, Hermione. Just put them on the stairs if you don't mind," Harry grunted.

"Of course! Got a spare roller for me?" she asked.

The two finished the entire entrance hall before heading back to Hermione's flat for lunch and more research. She helped Harry browse for decorating styles and printed out pictures for him to use as inspiration. Together, they also made a list of things he'd need from a hardware store to convert the house's current heavy, ostentatious furniture into a simpler style. It was a comfort to know she sent him on his way far more prepared for the work that lay ahead.

* * *

"Sorry I'm late," Harry muttered, sliding into the Leaky Cauldron booth. "I was working and didn't notice the time."

"You look like shit, mate," Ron muttered.

Hermione took in his too-loose, rumpled clothes and the dark circles under his eyes and frowned. "Harry, are you not sleeping well?"

He waved her off. "I'm sleeping fine. There's just a lot to get done, and sometimes I get a bit wrapped up in it. I stayed up too late last night."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "You've also lost weight, Harry. Are you eating properly?"

Before Harry could even open his mouth, she groaned and began muttering to herself. "Of course you're not, you're too focused on the house to take decent care of yourself. This is just like sixth year all over again, I swear. I don't know why I bothered to ask." She pinned him with a glare. "Have you even left Grimmuald Place in the last month?"

"Of course! I went to the hardware store several times, and I ran some errands last Thursday," Harry said proudly.

Ginny slapped a hand to her forehead. "You've got to get out more, Potter. Spending too much time in that old house is going to drive you mad."

"I'm fine," Harry growled. "And I'd love it if we could stop talking about how bad I look and how much redoing Sirius's house is screwing me up."

Luna leaned across the table and placed a gentle hand on his arm. "We're just concerned, Harry."

"Maybe we could all come over one day next week and see what you've done with the place?" Neville offered tentatively.

Harry nodded. "That's a great idea. We could do brunch. I'd love to get your opinions on some things, and maybe it'll get Hermione off my back," he laughed, giving her a gentle nudge.

"Show you… off your back… welfare check…" Hermione grumbled into her glass.

* * *

Hermione's jaw dropped when she walked through the front door of Number 12; Ron and Ginny were equally speechless. The once dark, moldy entry was warm, inviting, and… quiet—Harry had managed to remove Walburga's portrait! The furniture had been stripped of its dark glaze and heavy ornamentation. Instead, the simple table, cabinet, and coat rack shone in the sunlight streaming through the newly drape-less front windows.

"Please tell me you took a 'before' picture for comparison," Hermione breathed.

"Was it really that bad?" Neville asked.

Ginny nodded. "I wouldn't have believed it was capable of looking so… light."

"It used to be bloody gloomy and a bit frightening, if I'm being honest," Ron said.

"Well, it certainly looks happy now," Luna murmured.

Harry grinned. "You haven't even seen the best part. Come on!"

He led them past the newly minted dining room—which looked enormous with its refurbished table and a coat of paint—into the kitchen.

"This is what I've been working so hard on. I just finished it yesterday."

It was a completely different room. The layout was new, the Muggle appliances were new, even the tile flooring was new. The countertops were now a shining butcher block, and the cabinets were a bright, clean white. Above the new kitchen island Harry had installed a pot rack, and the copper pots hanging from it gleamed cheerily. With the new setup, he'd also had room for a breakfast nook. The slightly worn table and chairs occupying it fit right in with the rest of the homey décor.

"I love what you've done with it!" Ginny cried, running her hands over anything in reach.

"Did really you do all this yourself?" Luna asked as she studied the room.

Harry nodded. "I reconfigured the entire kitchen, a total gut job. I built it from the ground up."

Hermione ran her hand over the smooth countertop and then opened a cupboard door. The craftsmanship was incredible. "Harry… This is beautiful. How… just how?"

"I made friends with a few of the guys at the hardware store. They had plenty of tips," Harry assured her. "I did the work, but they provided the know-how. Well, them and the stuff you gave me." He clapped his hands together. "Now, I'll make that brunch I promised. You guys make yourselves comfortable in the dining room, I'll only be a few minutes."

As the others filed out, Hermione sat on the counter and watched Harry move comfortably. He played the happy host well, but she couldn't help feeling worried.

"I can hear you worrying from over here," Harry muttered as he chopped ham for the omelets.

"I can't help it," Hermione whispered. "Don't get me wrong, I'm impressed with what you've accomplished. But I'm worried that this—" she gestured to the renovations— "is letting you wallow instead of helping you say goodbye to Sirius."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. "I was going to start with his room, get the hard part over with… It was just too much, you know? And this _has_ been really hard, but in a good way. Being here and doing this, I'm happier than I've been in a long time. That's why I can't quit, Hermione. I actually feel… at peace?"

She swallowed the argument bubbling to her lips and instead studied the earnest grin that lit up his haggard face. Her heart broke to think how long it had been since she'd seen him smile so sincerely. She shoved her fears and concerns deep into the recesses of her mind. Harry deserved this happiness, even if it was hard to watch him work for it.

"I'm so glad," she replied, embracing him. "And if you're happy, I'm happy."

"I really, really am," he whispered.

And for now, that was enough.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Thanks for sticking around, you guys! Unless I get a wild hair to write Harry returning, I think this is going to be it for "Enough".

* * *

Chapter 2

"This is ridiculous!" Harry cried over the din. He jerked his butterbeer back from the edge of the table just in time to save it from the horde of drunk witches that walked by, slowing down to ogle him.

Hermione nodded. "It's pretty bad. I was hoping the rain would keep some people at home tonight, but I guess not."

"So how's work?" Harry asked. "I know you had that research thing with wolfsbane. Any progress?"

"You know the department. It's a veritable maze of red tape, centuries old 'traditions', and plenty of figurative toes to avoid squashing. So nothing yet," Hermione sighed.

Harry couldn't help but grin. "Makes me glad I left that circus!"

Hermione was about to reply when a beautiful blonde in a sparkly blue dress—which left very little to the imagination—leaned against their table.

"As I live and breathe," she whispered. "Harry Potter, in the flesh."

Harry cocked an eyebrow. "Do I know you?"

The woman shook her head and smirked. "No, but I'm sure you'd like to. I'm Selene." She offered her hand for Harry to kiss.

"No offense, Selena, but I'm just out having a couple pints with my friends. I'm sure you're a lovely girl, but I'm here with them tonight," Harry explained.

She pouted prettily. "It's _Selene_. And I'm not really sure why you're out with these people," she gestured to Hermione with a sneer, "but you could be having a lot more _fun_ with me and my friends."

Harry followed her gaze to a group of similarly clad young women batting their eyelashes at him.

"Somehow I doubt that," he muttered.

Selene crossed her arms and glared at him. "Merlin! Who knew The Boy Who Lived was such a… a… prude!" She huffed and stalked back to her friends.

"Mate, what the hell?" Ron cried from the other end of the booth.

Ginny shook her head. "Harry, when a hot girl comes up to you in a bar and bats her eyelashes like that, you _flirt_. Buy her a drink. Maybe sneak off and snog a bit. Not make her go spare!"

Hermione just shot him a sympathetic look. She knew how much he hated being known for killing a man, even one as evil as Tom Riddle, Jr. "At least she didn't throw a drink in your face?"

Harry smiled sadly. "Well, there's that."

"How's Grimmauld Place coming along?" she asked—anything to get his mind off this track. Her heart swelled to see him perk up.

"It's going really well," he replied. "I'm close to finishing the bedrooms on the first floor. Drawing room is next."

"Are you going to be okay in there?" Hermione asked. "I know you have a lot of memories with Sirius in that room. I can come help if you want!"

Harry chuckled. "I appreciate the offer, Hermione, but I'm really okay. I'm looking forward to reminiscing while I work on it."

She studied him for a moment. He _did_ appear to be handling the renovations—and the memories—quite well. It was just the sheer volume of people here tonight that seemed to bother him.

"Well, if you need me, I'm just a Floo call away," she reminded him.

"You sound like the old guys at the hardware store!" Harry joked.

Hermione tilted her head thoughtfully. "You know, I think I'm okay with that. At least they sound helpful."

"Incredibly helpful," he said. "And that reminds me, I'm meeting Dave at the store really early tomorrow to show him one of the ridiculous end tables. I should really get going."

"But it feels like you've just gotten here!" Hermione cried. "If I've gotten on your nerves with my worrying, I swear I'll stop."

Harry laughed at that. "As if you could! And I wouldn't have you stop—it's part of your charm. I really do have a meeting in the morning, and, honestly, I'm really just not used to being around this many people anymore. Feels like I can't really breathe," he admitted.

Hermione hopped up and gave him a quick hug. "Okay, well, just… Floo me sometime? I miss hearing from you. And since you said it's okay, you know how much I worry about you being cooped up in that old house…"

"I'll call you soon. Promise!" Harry said quickly and then dashed out the door before anyone could object.

As she watched him go, Hermione decided she didn't really believe him.

_Two Months Later_

Hermione idly picked at the napkin under her butterbeer, her eyes scanning the room. He swore he would actually make it out of that house tonight. He really only left it to go to the hardware store and these ill-fated pub nights. Sure, the past three times had been prime opportunities for the public, the press, and every unattached witch in Britain to pester him. But this time might be different! And besides that, he'd promised…

She finally caught a glimpse of Harry's unmistakable mop weaving its way through the crowd. It was slow going. He kept his head down, but she could see him cringe every time he bumped into another one of the Three Broomsticks' patrons. Hermione mentally berated herself for letting Ron pick the venue—she knew how much Harry hated crowds.

"Merlin," he spat out, slamming his mead onto the table and sliding in next to Hermione. "What the hell are all these people doing here?"

"Well, it _is_ Friday night," Ginny snarked from down the table.

"Relax, mate, 'sall good," Ron slurred, slinging his arms around Luna and Neville. "They're havin' a good time. You should try it!"

Nodding, Harry rolled his shoulders and tried to relax. But between being jostled by passers-by, badgered by well-wishers, and accosted by a photographer for Witch Weekly, Hermione watched Harry become more and more tightly wound. Finally, a giggling young witch sloshed her butterbeer onto his boot while trying to flirt with him, and Harry broke.

"Alright, I'm headed home," he growled, shaking off his foot.

"You okay, mate? It's only half ten," Neville asked.

Harry gave him a tight smile. "Fine, Nev. Just have a lot of work planned for tomorrow."

"Are you sure?" Hermione fretted, tossing a Drying Charm at Harry's boot.

"I'm really fine, Hermione. Just need a space," Harry murmured, squeezing her arm and shooting her a meaningful look. He stood and quickly donned his coat. "It was good to see you all!"

Before anyone could reply, he disappeared into the crowd.

Hermione kept her eyes trained on the door of the Hog's Head, ignoring the butterbeer in front of her. He should have been here nearly an hour ago. She hadn't seen him since last months' pub night, so it's possible he simply changed his mind about coming out tonight without telling her… But she could feel it in her gut—something was off.

She shoved her untouched drink toward Ron. "I'm worried about Harry. I'm just going to pop over to Grimmauld Place and make sure he's okay."

"I'm sure he's fine, Hermione." Ginny batted away her concern. "You know he doesn't really like coming out anymore. He's probably just bailing on us without telling anyone. Let him be."

"All the same, I'm going to go over there and check," Hermione said, slipping from the booth.

She dashed out of the pub and Apparated to Number 12's front step. Her knock went unanswered, so she doubtingly tried the knob. It turned easily. That was strange—Harry always kept it locked. Warily, she tiptoed inside and listened for signs of life. Faint strains of muggle music echoed through the house, and Hermione knew that, where that phonograph was, Harry would be too. She just had to find him.

Working her way through the house, Hermione marveled at the beauty Harry had managed to create. She already knew the kitchen, dining rooms, and drawing room were impressively redone. Now she could see that he'd taken the bedrooms on the second floor from frightful to welcoming, cozy spaces that begged for guests. And she swore the layout had been different—she'd have to ask him.

She really expected to find him on the third floor. He'd said those rooms went untouched for decades and needed the most work, but they were all in perfect condition. Hermione's stomach fell to her shoes when she realized he'd finally moved onto the fourth floor. Sirius and Regulus's rooms.

When she reached the landing, she knew she'd found him. She poked her head into the door no longer marked "Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black". The suite had been renovated beautifully. The pale green walls and dark—hand-carved?—furniture payed homage to Regulus, and Harry had kept a lot of his personal effects. Photos of Regulus and Sirius were littered artfully around the room, and an old Slytherin throw was draped on a gray overstuffed chair. It was missing nothing—except Harry.

Realizing her fears had just been confirmed, Hermione held her breath, crossed the hall to Sirius's room, and carefully opened the door, equally dreading and eager to see what was inside. It stole her breath away.

Sure, the furniture was gorgeous, finely detailed without being heavy or too ornate, its polish gleaming in the candlelight. Of course, the gold walls and crimson bedspread still screamed anti-Slytherin rebellion. Yes, every surface bore evidence of the life Sirius lived—laughing photos of the Marauders, framed Gryffindor pennants, a giant muggle photograph of Sirius and Harry at Christmas. Even Sirius's phonograph had found a home and was currently pouring out "Ramble On" by Led Zeppelin—one of his favorites.

But Hermione barely noticed any of it. All she could see was Harry sitting on the edge of the bed, suitcases stacked on either side of his feet.

"I knew it would be you." He smiled softly. "You never did quite understand the concept of space. Though I did think you'd find my letter, not me. But I should have known better than to think I'd be a step ahead of you."

"What are you doing?" Hermione whispered. "You're… you're leaving?"

Harry nodded. "I'm going away for a bit. I just… I need some distance from all of this, you know?"

"I can give you space! I can do distance!" she cried, running over to throw her arms around him.

"I can see that," Harry chuckled.

She sniffed a laugh. "Okay, it might take some work. Just… please don't leave me?"

"Hermione, I have to do this. For the past 18 years, I've done nothing but face down all the things that I didn't want to face. I've been everything everyone has asked of me, done everything I needed to defeat Voldemort. And when it was all said and done, I wanted a little break, some time to be a normal guy. But every time I go for a walk, every time I go out with my friends, every time I dare to breathe in public, someone wants to talk to _The-Boy-Who-Lived_." He sighed heavily. "All I want to do is get away from all the shit that's happened in my life, and I'll never escape it if I stay here. And maybe that's selfish. But I'm going to do it anyway because I _need_ it."

"Where are you going?" Hermione asked, tears unabashedly rolling down her cheeks. "For how long? What will you do for money? A place to live?"

Harry gestured to the room around him. "I got pretty good at Muggle renovations. And to be honest, I kind of miss living as a Muggle. Magic… complicates things. I'll get a flat or a house somewhere, try to get some work as a handyman. Sirius left me plenty of money on top of what I got from my parents, so if I need to use a bit of that, I will. As to where I'll go or how long I'll stay gone… I've got some ideas, but nothing's set in stone."

"I know I promised I'd give you space, but will you at least let me know where you are so I can write?" Hermione asked wetly.

"We'll see," Harry whispered, avoiding her eyes.

With a sinking heart, she knew exactly what Harry wanted from her—a clean break. And she would be damned if, after everything they'd been through, she could deny him the one thing he asked for.

"Okay, okay," she muttered, swiping at her still-pouring tears. She stood and held out her arms. "Can I have one more real hug? It's going have to last me Merlin knows how long."

Harry wrapped her up tightly, and she let her tears soak his shirt for a few too-short minutes. Regretfully, she broke their embrace and kissed his cheek. "Can I at least walk you out? See you off safely?"

Harry stared guiltily at the floor. "I kind of wanted a little more time to say goodbye to Sirius, or, you know, at least his room."

Hermione straightened her shoulders and tried to smile. "Of course. Take care of yourself, Harry. I won't be around to save you from jinxed broomsticks or drag you around the country to hide you from a dark lord."

Harry laughed heartily—Hermione already missed the sound. "I'll do my best, but no promises. But I do promise this is not forever. I'll see you again before you know it."

Resisting the urge to grab him and hug him and never let him go, Hermione squeezed his hand and fled the house.

She turned in time to see Number 12 and her dearest friend vanish until… well, time would tell. But he _had_ promised to return. And that would have to be enough.


End file.
